


Merry Christmas, Charlie Barkin

by Cakemage



Category: All Dogs Go to Heaven (1989)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1641794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cakemage/pseuds/Cakemage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite his efforts to the contrary, Charlie is starting to get into the Christmas spirit, thanks to one little girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas, Charlie Barkin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Vixen

 

 

Merry Christmas, Charlie Barkin

Charlie B. Barkin absentmindedly licked his paw and began counting the day's winnings. It really wasn't necessary; Itchy had meticulously counted out the wad of bills almost as soon as the bookie had handed it over. Still, Charlie needed something to help him unwind after the events of the day, which had included another kangaroo boxing match. He had no problems with kangaroos on the whole, no matter how weird they looked. Anything that he could use to make a profit was all right in his book. He'd been sorely tempted to draw the line, however, at boxing kangaroos in Santa outfits, no matter how close to Christmas it was. Anne-Marie had seemed to enjoy herself, though, and since once again her unique talents had come through for them in a big way, Charlie wasn't going to complain. On the way home she'd filled him in on the conversation she'd had with the winning kangaroo before the match; he'd only been half-listening, but apparently the `roo didn't like the Santa suit any more than Charlie did, what with him being Jewish. That had, admittedly, been a bit of a surprise; he hadn't even known kangaroos could be Jewish. 

Festively-dressed marsupials aside, Charlie had to admit (albeit grudgingly) that it hadn't been that bad. Though the "festive" Christmas decorations that seemed to cover downtown New Orleans had turned his stomach, Anne-Marie had shown nothing but sincere, child-like wonder towards every tacky, flashing light and cheap bauble they passed. 

"Oh, Charlie, isn't it beautiful?" she'd exclaimed breathlessly over an especially poorly constructed manger scene in a store window.

Charlie had forced himself not to cringe as he replied with a non-committal, "Yeah, sure is, Squeaker." 

He and Itchy had shared an eye-roll at this as soon as her back was turned, but in truth, Charlie's heart wasn't in it just then. Though he'd never admit it even to himself, he had genuinely enjoyed watching her joyous reactions to the festivities that had surrounded them. Instead, he told himself that the warm feelings were simply due to his significantly fatter wallet. After all, not even Itchy could bring himself to complain about Anne-Marie after a big win like that, although Charlie had noticed that the little dachshund didn't seem inclined to complain about her much these days regardless.

If he were to be completely honest with himself (which seldom happened), he'd have to admit that he'd developed a soft spot for the kid, and not just because she was profitable. Since this was not one of his rare moments of introspection, he pushed all such thoughts to the back of his head and continued counting up his money. Outside, Anne-Marie was doing something to the side of the cab. Charlie assumed she was trying to clean it again, though he'd told her many times that it was a hopeless cause. Still, he wasn't going to try to stop her as long as it kept her quiet.

His arithmetical activities came to a premature stop when he heard the little girl emit a high-pitched yelp. It was truly embarrassing how quickly Charlie leapt out of the broken window and over to Anne-Marie's side, and he swore then and there that if anyone ever asked him about it, he would lie through his teeth.

"What's wrong, Squeaker? You okay?" he asked, instinctively circling her protectively. 

"I'm fine, Charlie," she replied, a little shakily. "I just tripped while I was putting up the decorations."

"Good, good...wait, decorations?" he whirled around to take a good look at his cab, and his jaw dropped.

Anne-Marie had apparently scoured the junkyard for as many small, shiny scraps as she could find, and had turned them all into makeshift Christmas decorations. She'd obviously done her best, but there was only so much that could be done with what basically amounted to tin cans on a string. He wondered how he could have missed that. 

"Do you like it?" she asked eagerly.

"I...uh, yeah. It's very...very nice," Charlie replied, too stunned to even try faking sincerity.

Fortunately for him, Anne-Marie was too caught up in the Christmas spirit to notice his less-than-enthusiastic reaction. 

"Thanks, Charlie! So what are we getting Mr. Itchy for Christmas?" she went on, clapping her hands together gleefully. 

This actually gave Charlie pause. Usually, he and Itchy gave each other a bottle of single malt each on Christmas, but for some reason he got the feeling that Anne-Marie wouldn't be satisfied with that answer. 

"I dunno, kid," he answered honestly. "What do you think we should get him?"

Anne-Marie appeared to think seriously about this for a moment, then suddenly she smiled brightly. "I know!" she said, cheerfully. "Mr. Itchy always seems cold, so we should get him a nice blanket!" 

Charlie had to admit that it wasn't a bad idea. He'd never met dachshund who would turn his nose up at a nice blanket, and as a bonus, such a purchase wouldn't hurt his wallet too badly.

"Y'know, kid, that sounds like a plan. Why don't you come inside and get some sleep, and we'll go pick out a blanket first thing in the morning," he said, gently nudging her towards the only working door of the cab. 

"Okay, Charlie," Anne-Marie replied happily, crawling carefully into the car so as not to disturb her decorations.

***

The next morning, after Itchy's gift had been selected, paid for, and dropped off at the cab, Charlie and Anne-Marie met up with the grouchy little dachshund at his place and headed for the first turtle-race of the day. While Anne-Marie was collecting information from the turtles, Charlie quietly pulled Itchy aside.

"Listen, Itchy, you know Christmas is in two days, right?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, boss. There's gonna be a big frog-race that day," Itchy replied cheerfully. 

"Right, right. And you know we've gotta keep the kid happy, right?" Charlie went on.

Itchy snorted disdainfully. "Well, yeah, but I don't see what that has to do with..." he paused, and his face fell. "Oh, no. Charlie, please tell me she doesn't want us to go out caroling or somethin'."

"Relax, little buddy. It's nothin' like that. She just insisted on getting you a Christmas gift, and it'd make her happy if we got her something too," said Charlie.

At this, Itchy brightened considerably. "Oh, that's all? Yeah, I'll pick her up a doll or something tonight," he said casually. 

Charlie, knowing full well what Itchy meant by "picking up," handed him a wad of cash. "In case she asks where you got it," he explained. "Oh, and get her something from me, too, would ya?"

"Whatever you say, boss," Itchy shrugged, stuffing the money under his hat.

***

It was late Christmas evening when dog and girl returned from yet another successful race. When they reached the rusted-out cab, Charlie reached his head inside and grabbed Itchy's gift, then tossed it to Anne-Marie. 

"C'mon, kid. Fun's not over yet; we're going to Itchy's for dinner," he said jovially.

Though Anne-Marie had been showing signs of being tired, she instantly perked up at this news.

"D'you think he'll like his gift?" she asked as they walked the short distance over to Itchy's place.

"I know he will," Charlie promised, and he was actually fairly confident about this. 

It wouldn't be long before the dogs had enough money to build their own casino, and Itchy was definitely starting to champ at the bit, so to speak. When Charlie and Anne-Marie reached his little shack, they found him hard at work, surrounded by half-finished blueprints and scratch paper full of his tidy calculations.

"Hey, Merry Christmas Itch," Charlie said as he entered, and to his surprise he found that he actually kind of meant it. 

"Yeah, you too," said Itchy distractedly. "Dinner's on the table. Help yourselves while I finish here."

Charlie grinned and leaned over to share a conspiratorial whisper with Anne-Marie. "Best leave him alone. You know how he gets when he's calculating."

"I heard that!" Itchy growled, not taking his eyes off his work.

Anne-Marie did her best to stifle a giggle at this exchange, then ladled out three portions of the beef stew Itchy had prepared. She'd learned early on not to turn down any food she was served, and Itchy's stew was a treat compared to a good deal of what she'd eaten in the past. She was halfway through her second bowl by the time Itchy joined them at the table, and she showered him with praise for his cooking, all of which the little dog brushed off noncommittally. Charlie was sure, however, that Itchy was fighting back a smile.

After dinner, the trio exchanged their presents. Charlie had to tip his metaphorical hat to Itchy; Anne-Marie really seemed to love the toy horse and Raggedy Ann doll she received. For his part, Itchy couldn't disguise his delight at his new quilt. Charlie had just finished helping him put it on his bed when he felt a light tap on his shoulder, and turned to see Anne-Marie smiling and holding out a large, flat present wrapped in old newspaper.

He didn't know why he was surprised at this; of course she would've gotten him a gift too, but he was a bit flabbergasted all the same. He slowly tore away the makeshift wrapping paper to reveal a record of one of his favorite swing bands.

"I...wow. Thanks, Squeaker," he said sincerely, and this time he didn't have to fake it.

"Merry Christmas, Charlie," she replied happily, throwing her arms around him and kissing him on the cheek.

Instead of gagging or making other various noises of disgust as he usually did, all Charlie could do was say, "You too, Anne-Marie."

The End. 

 


End file.
